


of chamomile tea and sunsets

by coramalias



Series: i walked into love with you [1]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alive Allison Argent, Bechdel Test Pass, F/F, Malia-centric, Post-Season/Series 03B
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-15
Updated: 2014-08-15
Packaged: 2018-02-13 07:40:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,727
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2142729
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/coramalias/pseuds/coramalias
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hovering over her is Allison, the soft yellow light of the lamp illuminating her face in a glow. The light filters through her hair, drawn back in a braid for the occasion, turning the usually dark strands into an almost honey color. Her expression is blank. She reminds Malia of the creased brow of her father when she passes him in the hallway of her childhood home, of the stout doctor who took blood samples despite the fact that Malia couldn't stop shaking and still had leaves buried in her hair, of the school's guidance councilor and her slow manner of speaking, as if her years of grief had somehow turned her into an actual animal, incapable of reason.</p>
            </blockquote>





	of chamomile tea and sunsets

With an impact that leaves her breathless, a sharp sting creeps it's way into the flesh of Malia's right shoulder. Her mouth drops open in surprise. Her eyes flutter shut as agony rips it's way through her bloodstream. A scream tears it's way from her lungs and she falls to the cool concrete floor, breathless. 

"Malia!" A voice calls out, but it sounds as if it were being projected into an endless tunnel, faraway and unreachable. She feels her claws retract on the own accord. Her deadly incisors disappear as well, leaving her defenseless in the midst of a battle. 

Distantly, she feels soft human fingers pulling her upright by the fabric of her jacket. 

"Malia, hold on, we're gonna take care of you, ok, you're going to be fine, just hang on..." 

"Stiles," she slurs, blinking slowly in an attempt to fight the sudden heaviness of her eyelids. 

His face is a soft blur above her, highlighted by the large industrial lamps hanging from the warehouse ceiling. Malia blinks once more, noting absently that his heartbeat has calmed somewhat since she responded. 

"You were hit by some kind of dart, but she's on her way, this is her _speciality_ , Malia, just hold on a little longer, I really don't thing amputation is really in the realm of possibilities here, I don't-" 

"Stiles, move." A light yet assertive voice says from somewhere behind him. 

"We don't have time to test what kind of poison this is, Malia," The voice says crisply, tearing the fabric of her jacket open and revealing the mutilated flesh underneath. 

"Look at me." Malia hadn't even realized she had closed her eyes again. 

Hovering over her is Allison, the soft yellow light of the lamp illuminating her face in a glow. The light filters through her hair, drawn back in a braid for the occasion, turning the usually dark strands into an almost honey color. Her expression is blank. She reminds Malia of the creased brow of her father when she passes him in the hallway of her childhood home, of the stout doctor who took blood samples despite the fact that Malia couldn't stop shaking and still had leaves buried in her hair, of the school's guidance councilor and her slow manner of speaking, as if her years of grief had somehow turned her into an actual animal, incapable of reason. 

Allison's grip on her arm tightens. "Malia." 

Malia grits her teeth in an attempt to keep another scream from passing her lips. Instead, a pained whistle slides through her teeth. 

Apparently satisfied with the response, Allison's grip loosens and her thumb begins to rub soothing circles into the crease of her elbow. "I'm going to cauterize the wound. It's going to hurt, but it will negate the poison." 

It's all the warning Malia gets before a sudden heat begins to envelop her skin. Her lips part once more and this time she isn't able to hold back the scream, her throat stinging as it leaves her. The pain intensifies and she looses feeling in the tips of her fingers. The feeling spreads and she turns, sinking her teeth into Allison's skirt in retaliation. 

Allison flinches, and the only way Malia notices is because the heat lessens some as she draws back automatically, only to become all the more intense as her resolve solidifies. 

... 

"Do you want eggs?" Malia asks, back stiff and grip tight on the pan handle. 

There's a long silence before her father murmurs his approval softly. Malia hears a short shuffle of movement behind her as he settles into his usual chair at the table. She locks her jaw stubbornly in place as she flips the portion she had been preparing for herself. 

The egg is burnt to a dark brown color. She resists the urge to smash the pan into unrecognizable pieces. 

... 

The Beacon Hills she remembers from her childhood is frustratingly similar to that of present day. The county library, although aged, remains in it's place on North Arch Street. However, the ice cream stand her little sister insisted that they visit every Thursday after her ballet class had gone bankrupt and now stands abandoned and vandalized. The high school continues to remain as intimidating as ever, but the Beacon County Sheriff's Department has certainly seen better days. 

Her bedroom is exactly the same as she left it all those years ago, yet the rest of her house, as well as her father, had not been so lucky. Her father replaced her mother's shelves of unused fabric with a rack of shotguns. Instead of family photos lining the wall, nails are left with nothing hanging from them except the shadows of slightly discolored paint as a reminder of what had been. 

She pauses in her walk down the hallway, toothbrush hanging out of her mouth and the hem of her pajama pants dragging across the ground. Her father watches her carefully from the opposite end of the hallway. His hands clench and unclench tightly. Malia lowers her gaze hesitantly and her teeth clinch on the edge of her toothbrush. 

He opens his mouth to say something, but seems to change his mind. Instead he simply walks into his bedroom and shuts the door firmly behind him. 

Malia feels claws prick at her fingers and sharp teeth stab into the soft plastic of the toothbrush. She closes her eyes, takes a deep breath, and tries to find her center of control. Her anchor, her reason for remaining human. Faces flit through her mind, ScottLydiaStilesAllisonKira _Pack_ , but none of them fit, none seem real. Pack yet not pack, accepted but not quite one of them. 

In a fit of desperation, she clings to the thought of her sister. Caroline. She was seven years old when Malia.... when she..... 

She loved babydolls, Malia reminds herself, pointedly ignoring the stinging of her eyes. She loved every and any doll, honestly, more of a mother hen than a seven year old, always trying to tell Malia what to do. 

Caroline would have been infinitely better at helping their father than Malia is. 

... 

The next time she sees Allison Argent, Malia is standing stiffly at the front door of Stiles' house. There's a new wave of hunters in town, supposedly drawn by the uprise of supernatural residents, and they have taken to experimenting with the local pack. Malia's incident with the poisoned dart was the first, but now the entire pack lay sprawled out on the furniture of the living room in varying states of distress. Scott and Kira are curled around one another on the couch, Stiles is gripping Lydia's hand tightly as they sit next to the couple, Derek is sitting on the floor with his head pushed back against the couch cushions and Stiles' other hand tight on his shoulder, and Isaac has his legs nudging against Derek's and his head propped up on Lydia's knee as she carefully rubs some kind of salve onto a gash on his collar bone. Allison stands off to the side, back leaning against Lydia's shoulder and eyes sharp. Standing guard. 

Their position reminds Malia of daily breakfast with her father. They each remain settled in their own niches while Malia, no matter how much they want to include her, remains on the abrasive outskirts of family. 

Malia shifts uncomfortably. She can't bear to sit still, to stand and watch as her pack knits itself even closer together without her. She shakes herself, mentally and physically, leaving the room and entering the kitchen. 

Stiles' refrigerator is surprisingly well-stocked, most likely for his father's benefit. Inside she finds a plethora of fruits, vegetables, and a carton of eggs in the back. Snagging three recently washed pans left to dry in the drainer, she flicks on the stove and begins to chop a thin stalk of onion. 

"What are you doing?" An airy voice asks from behind her. 

Malia glances over her shoulder and notes that Allison still has her crossbow at her side. Allison doesn't seem to notice she hasn't set it down. 

"Making omelets." Malia shrugs, trying to play off the sudden tense roll of her shoulders. 

"Do you mind if I help?" Allison asks hesitantly, carefully sidestepping putting Malia's capability in question. 

Malia eyes Allison cautiously as she steps up beside her at the counter, her crossbow laying in the table behind them. "Are you going to poison us all with wolfsbane?" 

Allison, wisely choosing to take the comment as a joke, laughs quietly, smiling widely enough to flash Malia her dimples. 

"No, but my family does have other skills besides hunting that they've handed down for generations. So you could say I know my way around a kitchen." She says with mock cheer, reaching around Malia and grabbing a tomato from the pile of food she had priorly gathered (read: raided) from the refrigerator. 

"You certainly know your way around a flame, that's for sure." Malia mutters. They've gravitated so close that she feels rather than sees Allison flinch. 

"I wouldn't have hurt you if it wasn't to save you," she says quietly, easing a knife into the tomato, "My family... we're not like that anymore. We protect those who cannot protect themselves." 

Malia cracks an egg viciously on the side of a bowl. Yolk and eggshell coat her fingers in retaliation. 

"I can protect myself," she says stiffly, picking a piece of shell from the bowl before pouring it into the pan. 

"But," she chances another glance at Allison, who is staring stubbornly downward at the knife in her hand, "I do appreciate you helping me." 

Allison laughs softly again. "It would seem much more sincere if you didn't sound as if those words brought you pain." 

Malia purses her lips and cracks another egg, more gently this time. "I don't care what you think of me. But it was... kind... of you, regardless." 

This time Allison's smile is a lot less mocking. Her lips quirk up softly, a small smile showing no teeth, but sincere. "You're welcome, Malia. You're a friend, after all." 

... 

Malia catches the steady beat of Allison's heartbeat even before she knocks at the front door. Despite the nervous energy Malia can feel even from the second floor, her heart beats an even rhythm into her bloodstream. Malia feels her fangs lengthen, bloodlust surging within her like a overwhelming current, and tightens her grip on her Calculus textbook in an effort to control herself. 

"Malia," her father calls from the doorway, "there's someone here to see you." 

Malia takes a deep breath to steady herself, then rolls out of her bundle of blankets perched on her bed and into the fuzzy slippers awaiting her on the floor. She hurries down the staircase then pauses, drinking in the sight before her. 

Allison stands in the doorway, the setting sun illuminating her silhouette in a fashion similar to the incident in the warehouse. This time her hair is loose, spilling downward, framing her face in soft curls that end just below her collarbones. She's wearing a floral print dress, formal shoes with a slight heel, and looking for all the world like an innocent flower. 

But Malia knows better. She sees the glint of steel in Allison's eyes, how they scan the house in a calculating manner as if she were either memorizing an escape route or the best plan of attack, and how her fingers twitch nervously on her shoulder-bag which Malia is certain contains her miniature crossbow and at least two daggers. 

Malia feels a growl bubble up her throat, but restrains herself, just barely. "What are you doing here?" 

Allison blinks in surprise at Malia's openly hostile tone, almost taking a step back before regaining her composure, raising an inquisitive eyebrow and straightening her posture. "Lydia tells me you're failing Calculus." 

Malia crosses her arms defensively. "Well, I was stuck in the woods for eight years without formal education. Forgive me if my math skills could use some work." 

Malia's father looks hesitantly between the two girls. "Would you like to study together upstairs?" 

... 

Surprisingly enough, Allison is actually a decent tutor. She finds middle ground between Lydia, too far above anyone else's level of understanding to see what the crux of the matter is, and Kira, placating Malia in an effort to become friends of sorts. Instead, Malia finds Allison captivating. She obviously knows what she's talking about, yet resists the urge to make her power over Malia obnoxiously obvious. It's a trait she wishes the teachers at school would learn. 

In the end, Malia can't overlook the obvious success Allison's tutoring brings, despite how much she would like to. She grudgingly agrees to meet Monday, Wednesday, and Friday of each week. 

... 

"I have to ask," Allison begins, biting her lip nervously from her spot on the edge of Malia's mattress. She should know better than to be nervous. It's been weeks since something Allison said caused Malia's control to snap. 

"What's with the constant pile of blankets and fuzzy slippers?" 

Something about the way Allison's voice lits on the word "fuzzy" pulls a smile on Malia's lips. She shrugs, burrowing further into the mass of fabric, dragging her biology textbook with her. 

"I just can't get warm again." She admits quietly, forcing the binding of the book back as far as it's willing to go. 

Allison hums thoughtfully, but otherwise doesn't comment. The next time they meet, she brings a box of chamomile tea with her. 

"It'll make your insides all warm and gooey," she assures her, pushing a warm mug into Malia's uncooperative grip. 

Reluctantly, Malia takes a sip of the offered drink. Almost scalding warmth seeps into her taste buds. Her eyes flutter shut as heat continues down her throat and refuses to stop, spreading to the tips of her fingers, toes, and curling around her heart with a protectiveness Malia hasn't experienced in years. She moans appreciatively, pulling the mug closest to her chest instinctively. 

When she opens her eyes, Allison is resolutely looking at the floor, a soft pink blush coloring her cheeks. A small, self-satisfied smile takes it's place on her lips. 

"You're showing me where I can get this on a regular basis, then, regardless of human customs, I am storing enough of them for winter." 

Allison's laugh is a lot less forced than it had been a month ago. 

... 

"Do you miss them?" 

They're both lying parallel to each other on Malia's mattress, watching the sun set through the open window. The sky ignites with fusions of oranges, reds, pinks, and yellows, bathing the evening in color. Allison turns to look at her. An orange glow catches the sheen of her bottom lip as she bites her teeth softly into it. 

"Miss who?" She asks, even though Malia is certain she understands. 

"Your family," she clarifies, flicking her claws against each other, a nervous habit she's picked up ever since she learned a fair amount of control. It bothered Allison at first, Malia could tell by the way her mouth twitched into a frown and her eyes tracked the movement carefully, but over time she grew accustomed to it. Trusting. 

_We trust each other_ , she realizes with a certain clarity she hadn't noticed before. She feels like pack. More than anyone else, she feels like Malia's family. It was obvious even before Allison's overtures of friendship. Allison is the only one who knows how Malia feels, how she distances herself from the pack slowly seeping deeper into each other to hover from a distance and stand guard. She cares for Scott, her alpha, her blood sings with _rightness_ whenever she's around him, but with the others it's different. It's almost as if they don't know how to handle her. They set out to solve the murder of her family, but gained a packmate instead. 

They are her family, but Allison is different. Allison can see through her, into her, and speaks to a part of Malia that she hardly recognizes. She would say it was the animalistic part of her, but she has been familiar enough with that side to know when it is not at fault. This feeling is more startlingly human. Her connection to Allison, ironically enough, has no relation to pack bonds or coyote instincts. It's simply the way Allison laughs good-naturedly when Malia reveals one of her more prevalent bad habits. It's the way her hands loosely grip the red pen as she neatly arranges Malia's mistakes into organized boxes for her to correct. It's how, sometimes, when she brushes Malia's hand on accident, or gives her a half-hug goodbye, Malia feels a warmth surge within her. Not the bloodlust she's becoming accustomed to, but something different, something like camomile tea easing the cool ache from her bones. 

"I miss them," Allison says softly, drawing Malia from her thoughts, "I miss them whenever I'm doing something they taught me, or something I know they would be better at. I especially miss them when my dad looks at me like I'm the last thing he has in the world, which I suppose is true." 

Malia's heart clinches uncomfortably. "How do you do it? Talk to him, make him forget?" 

Allison studies Malia carefully for a moment. "You can't make him forget. You just need to try your best to be there for him, in whatever capacity you can. Just remember that he loves you, and it's not your fault that he's not there yet." 

_Oh, but it is_ , Malia thinks, averting her eyes back to the open window, _because where your family died for their crimes, mine died because I couldn't control myself_. 

... 

They find out that Kate Argent is alive on a Thursday. Derek is kidnapped on a Friday. Stiles and Lydia force the rest of the pack into Stiles' jeep that night (with the exception of Isaac, who stays behind under the guise of keeping the parents (read: Chris Argent) from asking to many questions, but actually because there isn't enough room for all of them between the jeep and Scott's bike) and by Saturday morning they're on their way to Mexico. 

Something isn't quite right. Lydia is only just getting used to her banshee abilities, something Malia can relate to. Her face is tight with concentration, rolling the large shells over in the palm of her hand even as Stiles navigates a bumpy back road that Malia doesn't even want to question how he knew existed. With a huff of frustration, she opens her eyes once more, fixing her glare on the nearest person, aka Malia. 

"Think you can do any better?" she asks, closing her fingers tightly around Derek's only hope. 

"Maybe if I had a convenient soul-bond-mind-connection, I could." Malia side-eyes Stiles, who's attention refuses to leave the road. 

"I told you, I don't know how it works. All I know is that Kate took him, something about a church, and a lot of wolfsbane is involved." 

"We'll find him," Allison says with conviction, eyes flicking from Stiles to Lydia and back again. 

"We better," Lydia grumbles, slumping further down in her seat and opening her palm once more, "or I'm going to have a very stern conversation with your aunt, Allison." 

Allison nods grimly. "You and me both." 

... 

They find him buried alive, covered in wrapped wolfsbane, hidden in an ancient temple. Malia helps Scott drag him out into the open night air, just in time for the jeep to pull up in front of them. Apparently Stiles had, somehow, miraculously, repaired the damage despite being stranded in the middle of nowhere. 

Stiles, Lydia, Allison, and Kira vault from the jeep before it even completely stops, the latter two stopping at a reasonable distance while the former pair continues forward to catch a limp Derek from where he had been slumping toward the ground. 

Stiles manages to wind Derek's left arm over his shoulder and begins to support the majority of his weight, while Lydia assumes position on his other side, gripping his hand tightly within her own smaller ones. Malia catches the glint of the bullet shells wedged between Lydia's palms and Derek's. She continues to watch them, even as they help a barley conscious Derek into the back seat. When she turns, she meets Allison's gaze and smiles tightly. Allison, despite being sprayed with dirt and sporting a cut on her torso from whatever they had run into after the group split up, returns the smile before joining Stiles, Lydia, and Derek in the jeep. 

On the drive back, the seating order has been shuffled to accommodate Derek's injuries. He falls asleep shortly after Allison starts the engine, squished between Lydia and Stiles on either side. Scott follows closely behind on his bike, Kira with him. Malia was left with the front passenger seat. 

Just as she begins to nod off, she feels a pressure on the top of her hand. She slowly and blearily comes back to the present. The sun is rising low on Sunday morning, casting a yellow glow on the horizon. Light filters through Allison's hair once more, which was originally in a bun, but now is pulled and tugged so that several strands stick to the side of her face. She looks over at Malia, smiles just wide enough that Malia can see a hint of white teeth beneath, and locks their fingers together soundly. 

... 

Malia knocks softly on her father's bedroom door Monday morning. He opens the door cautiously, yet smiling slightly when he finds Malia on the other side. 

Malia smiles back. An honest, open smile, small but sincere. "I made breakfast." 

Malia's dad nods, not quite knowing where she intends to go with this conversation but pleased nonetheless. 

"Pancakes," Malia continues, "because we ran out of eggs. Someone needs to go grocery shopping soon, and you're the only one in this house with a credit card." 

The sudden surprised laughter of her father startles Malia into hysterical giggles as well, and soon they're laughing and clinging to each other in reminiscent of their first reunion. 

"I've missed you," he whispers into her hair, and this time the sting of her eyes signals something completely different from a transformation. 

"Yeah," she says thickly, tightening her grip on his shirt, "I missed you too, dad. We're going to have to do so much bonding activities, you're going to be sick of me." 

Malia resolutely ignores how much her dad's laugh sounds suspiciously like a sob. 

... 

"Anyone have anything else to add?" Scott asks, searching the room. Pack meetings are a new installation. Lydia and Stiles both insisted, citing how they wouldn't have known Derek was even missing if not for anchor soul bond dreams and flakey banshee powers, and that the rest of the pack wouldn't be so lucky next time. 

Malia raises her hand, then begins to speak once Scott nods his confirmation. "Peter Hale is a dick." 

She turns to Derek, ignoring how Stiles is choking on his slice of pizza beside him. "Also, if you didn't already know, we're long lost cousins." 

Derek chews his bite of pizza carefully, eyes wide. "I wasn't aware of that, actually." 

Malia shrugs. "I figured as much. If you want, you're welcome to join the regular, still extremely awkward, Tate Family Dinner," she pauses, expression souring, "except without Peter. As previously stated: he's a manipulative dick. Cora's welcome to join if she ever visits, though." 

Derek just nods, looking slightly overwhelmed. Stiles, however, has regained enough composure (probably due to Lydia forcefully patting his back) to look at Malia incredulously. 

"How did you know?" 

Allison shoots a half hearted glare at him. "I told her everything. You didn't honestly think I was going to befriend her and continue to lie 'for her own good', did you?" 

Malia feels a flood of affection roll into her, and she smiles blindingly at Allison. 

"I know who my family is, guys, and I'm not about to let myself be used just because Peter and I happen to share a few chromosomes." 

Derek still looks shellshocked, Allison seems smug, Lydia's eyes are narrowed assessingly at Malia's correct use of the word "chromosome", Isaac looks as if he's thoughtfully debating whether or not he gives a fuck, and the rest of the room looks overwhelmingly guilty. 

"Good talk guys. See you tomorrow, Derek." 

Malia rolls to her feet, beginning the long trek home with a unusual pep in her step. 

... 

"Allison?" 

"Yeah?" Allison responds, tangled in the quilts of Malia's makeshift heater, a mug of tea nestled in her lap. 

"Why haven't we kissed yet?" 

Allison blinks, startled, and the red pen falls from her grasp to land on Malia's notebook with a soft thud. A dark pink flush rises across her face. She tucks a loose strand of hair behind her ear, biting her lip thoughtfully. 

"I don't know, Malia. I guess it's just one of those weird human teenager quirks that no one really understands." 

Malia makes an impatient noise in the back of her throat. "Well, can we kiss now, then?" 

Allison smiles, wider than Malia's ever seen directed at her before, and shifts her body so that they're facing each other. 

"Yeah," she breathes, pressing her fingers gently against Malia's cheeks before bringing their faces closer to each other, just enough to brush their lips together. 

Malia feels the comforting heat spread throughout her body once more, reaches out to Allison, gripping the back of her neck, drawing her closer and pressing their lips more firmly together. Allison's mouth drops slightly in surprise and Malia uses it to her advantage, nudging her tongue between her teeth, licking lightly into her mouth. They spend the next few moments like that, learning one another and what the other likes, before Allison draws back for a breath. 

She doesn't go far, resting her forehead against Malia's and panting softly into her mouth. 

"You taste like chamomile," Malia informs her, reveling in the feel of Allison's huffed laughter against her skin. 

"So do you," she murmurs, nosing her way under Malia's jawline and pressing her lips to the sensitive skin, sucking gently. 

Malia hums appreciatively, adjusting her grip to tighten on Allison's hair. "You're good at this." 

"You're biased," she says into her kisses, traveling down to Malia's neck to her collarbone. 

"Yeah," she whispers, catching Allison's hand and pressing a chaste kiss to her knuckles, calloused and lightly littered with scrapes, "yeah, I am." 

... 

"So you and Allison are boning now, huh?" Is how Stiles greets her as he sits down at the cafeteria table. 

Malia raises an eyebrow, her fork pausing in its ascent to her mouth. "So you, Lydia, and Derek are having some sort of interspecies threesome now, huh?" 

The sight of Stiles choking on his bite of mediocre cafeteria macaroni is absolutely worth the look Lydia sends her from two seats down. 

Isaac rolls his eyes. "Just try not to get shot by overprotective hunter fathers, okay?" 

Malia smiles. "I'll try." 

Stiles groans miserably. "Oh God, there it is. The patented 'I'm Smitten With Allison Argent' smile, famous for ruining my life with impromptu ballads of love." 

"Would you write a love ballad for me?" Allison asks, plopping into the seat next to Malia and stealing a piece of macaroni off her tray. 

"That would imply that I can actually sing," Malia says fairly, retaliating by taking a piece of broccoli from Allison's tray and ignoring Stiles' blatant horror from across the table, "and that a love ballad would positively impact our relationship at all. Maybe I could just bring you wild rabbits." 

Allison laughs, and Lydia draws Stiles' attention back, considerately giving the couple a bit of privacy. Once Scott and Kira join the table, the conversation diverts back to the suspicions of another pair of hunters drawn into town. Stiles and Lydia take turns texting Derek under the table, Stiles struggling to text a mile a minute while Lydia regularly snags the phone and sets about fixing Stiles' spelling errors. Scott and Kira sit with their shoulders pressed together comfortably, the conversation starting to derail, and somehow ending with Scott and Isaac arm wrestling over who gets Kira's coveted blue jello cup. Malia tightens her grip on Allison's hand and grins, basking in the glow of newfound family.

**Author's Note:**

> i like to think Malia's attitude about Peter would have been different if she had the opportunity to see how Allison rejected her family's history


End file.
